


I Got You (And You Got Me)

by Val_Creative



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, M/M, Past Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24327148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: It’s already halfway through the day when Merlin’s foot pushes in the screen door. He never did learn to knock.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 137
Collections: Scruffy Pendragon Fest





	I Got You (And You Got Me)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 1500th fic. Holy shit. I ran a poll and the highest votes were for **BBC Merlin** and **Merthur** and I had a feeling. But, uhhhh,,, holy shit,,,,, I can't believe it's this many fics and that doesn't look like a real number. I would love to hit 2000 fics and I plan on doing it. ANYWAYS HI. THANK YOU FOR READING. PLEASE ENJOY.

*

It's already halfway through the day when Merlin's foot pushes in the screen door, letting in the sweltering heat.

He never did learn to knock.

The wire-covered screen backdoor creaks. Not old bones in Gaius' joints, and not the rust-flaked park swing sets when Arthur was a boy.

Like the door _protests_.

And Merlin just stands there outside of the entrance-way, mouth twitching.

A glisten of sweat on Merlin's neck. A reddened flush to his cheeks. He fiddles absently with the ornate door handle.

They had broken that door handle before. Accidentally, not-accidentally, when they first purchased the cottage.

Arthur had confessed to an absurdly romantic plan of unlocking the door and sweeping Merlin up into his arms. Maybe throwing him roughly over Arthur's shoulder. Arthur had been always been _absurdly_ strong and awkward and touchy with Merlin like that.

They had both realized, after the exhausting long drive, that the key had been left on nightstand back at their old flat.

Hence, Arthur losing his temper and prying the handle apart from the door, with Merlin rolling his eyes and yelling and throwing up his hands in frustration. It didn't take much, he thinks. The backdoor handle didn't seem well-fitted in the first place.

That didn't reassure him on the inside state of the cottage they just purchased after three years of dutifully saving up. Thankfully, Arthur's sudden worries were baseless… it was a lovely home. It was their home.

It… _had been_ theirs. And it still _is_ theirs.

Even if it is just Arthur now.

Arthur lets out a groan into his hands, sliding them across his face. His hair too-long. His face unshaven and gold.

"You're not a vampire. You can come in at any time," he mutters, straightening his hunch over the dining table.

Merlin visibly brightens.

"I'm definitely not." His easy-sounding chuckle reaches in, past the summer heat, past the hectic noise in Arthur's mind. "Y'know, I think I'm starting to become a _bad_ influence on you," Merlin says. His foot still crams between him and the screen door.

"You… thinking," Arthur repeats back, shoving away a neat, unopened stack of envelopes: bills, more bills, notices, hospital letters, letters from Gwen, from Hunith, from his own mother, and he can barely look at the names without gulping down sick.

He eyes the other man, lip curled in mock-scorn.

"That's gravely optimistic of you, Emerson."

Merlin shoots him a look.

"Very funny, prat."

Arthur doesn't get up from his chair, hands gripping the table's edge. "It's quite the opposite actually," he tells Merlin, congratulating himself on his voice remaining steady though emotionally cold. "What are you still doing here, Merlin?"

Sunset colors the tips of Merlin's dark hair. The door is propped open with heat coming in and Arthur's stomach roils.

" _Ouch_ ," Merlin blurts out, his smile weak. "I didn't know that could still hurt."

Arthur's fingers dig harder into the varnished wood of the dining table.

"You shouldn't be here, you're not…"

No, Arthur's throat clamps up. The guilt tangles up in him.

Merlin's head drops back against the wood-frame of the entrance, noiselessly thudding. "Not really here?" Merlin offers, his fingers dancing across the ornate door handle, and Arthur just wants to slam the gods-damn backdoor in his face.

Because how _dare_ he act like this.

How _dare_ Merlin act like this house hasn't been lonely in its shadows… with just the coffeemaker and their collection of broken seashells… and only Arthur's tight breathing in their mattress. And everything's _dark_ without Merlin laughing and nudging Arthur off the bed, kicking him playfully in the shins. Without him crying over movie endings on the futon and without him mouthing over Arthur's faint scars from athletic training.

"Just go, Merlin," Arthur says, his teeth gritting.

His hands scrub against his scruff, over his burning face and eyes. Pushing away the hot moisture gathering in them.

"Leave you in peace, you mean," Merlin answers, staring up at the ceiling, now grinning. "Leave you to stare blankly at our friend's sympathy cards, ignore your mum's phone calls, and yet you can't even think to _lock the backdoor_."

Arthur's breathing quivers.

"The handle's broken, Merlin," he whispers, rubbing harder. His chest burning, sweltering. "It's…"

Merlin's sudden, ugly laugh jerks Arthur's head up. "It's not broken," Merlin tells him softly, his blue eyes suspiciously watery. "You're not broken. I love you, you stupid clod. I don't want to linger here like a memory."

Arthur can see the sun dipping in the horizon. He can see the orange and red light fading from the tips of dark locks.

"Don't do this, Arthur. Don't, please don't," Merlin murmurs. He's in the ragged blue jumper with that small hole he never mended. His jaw unclenches, prickled with those dark hairs all-over instead of Arthur's scruffy golden. "One of us is already buried. Please let your home be an extension of your life, not a reminder that there was an _end_."

The purposeful use of " _your home_ " and not " _our_ " does not go unnoticed.

Arthur's eyes feel stinging-hot, like their corners begin to trickle.

"I can't," Arthur begs, lips hurting from keeping them pressed together. Not allowing a sob free. _"I can't without you."_

"You'll find a way, Arthur. You always do," Merlin argues, lifting himself from the door-frame.

His grin crinkles his face.

_"I've always believed you."_

The world blurs a moment. Merlin's tall shape hazing and veiling over with muted colors, as Arthur's eyelids shut and blink out wet warmth. He remains sitting at the dining table. The glass wind-chime outside tinkles quietly.

After another few minutes, Arthur manages a stand, his knees aching.

He goes to the screen-door flapping open to a passing breeze.

Closed.

Then opened.

Arthur takes the handle gently, his thumb etching the swirl-carved metal. The stars peek out from velvety blue. And then, Arthur very slowly, hesitantly, closes the screen-door in front of him. Locking it.

It _does_ lock.

Arthur scribbles out a note on the fridge to call Gwen in the morning before therapy.

He takes a couple swallows of lukewarm beer from an opened bottle. Arthur does bury himself, an hour later, his right cheek pressed deep in Merlin's pillow on his side of the bed, but Arthur sleeps. He finally sleeps.

*


End file.
